


the garbage picking field goal kicking denver phenomenon

by shassie



Series: All-stars, Junkies, and Valedictorians [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-31 18:37:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10905120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shassie/pseuds/shassie
Summary: Clyde’s always harbored a sweet platonic love for shitty romcom sports dramas. Hell, he and his mom used to watch Air Bud religiously eight times a week, that shit was his childhood.(In which Kevin's increasing academic pressures and Clyde's infuriatingly supportive laidback attitude don't bode well.)





	1. Star Trek Meets Space Jam

**Author's Note:**

> This fics been in the woodworks for months now (I think) and I'm excited to contribute to the beautiful obscurity that is Stolovan. This is part of a larger series I'm planning out, the first chapter's more of a prologue than anything else, introducing Kevin and Clyde the way I intend to write them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As for what the symbols actually mean, Kevin’s never told him, but Clyde’s convinced they’re ancient hieroglyphics that attract good fortune or something.

It’s really not all that surprising that Clyde Donovan decided to join the football team junior year of highschool. It’s even less surprising that he was the bomb dot com at it and got promoted to quarterback after only a couple weeks of practice like a pro (fucking score).

 

Clyde’s always harbored a sweet platonic love for shitty romcom sports dramas. Hell, he and his mom used to watch Air Bud religiously eight times a week, that shit was his childhood. Plus, every game comes with the added bonus of everyone in his class cheering him on in the stadium. Like ten choice ass babes (that’s more than all the hot milfs 0.4 miles away from him that keep messaging him about his dick, hot damn) holding his name up in the air and screaming. Throw in Bebe Stevens bouncing with a giant ‘number 14’ on her chest and the promise of like twelve of those giant KFC buckets waiting for him readily at Token’s kickass celebratory after party and Clyde Donovan’s sold.

 

So when Kevin told him he’d have to begrudgingly pick a sports program to join on his parents behalf, Clyde set about recruiting Red and Token to assist him in making the best sci-fi-packed slideshow ever conceived in the history of presentations just to convince Kevin that football was the best sport ever invented and that any other sport could suck his dick. Clyde even added pictures of Jeff Goldblum, that slideshow was good shit.

 

Needless to say, Kevin was proud, but eagerly dismissive, and a few days after that, he signed up for hockey with Red and Tweek. (Clyde felt utterly betrayed and crushed for weeks afterwards, Red was a sleeper agent the entire time! Traitor!). You barely even get to tackle people in hockey, you just slap ice with a bunch of flimsy sticks, Clyde still can’t see how that could possibly compete with the sick-ass brutality of football. Nonetheless, Clyde had completely respected Kevin’s choice. He was nothing but a superb bro about Kevin’s decision, and he maturely congratulated him as soon as he found out he’d tried out for hockey instead of football even though he’d totally been pleading with him for like a straight up month - but again, Clyde’s nothing if not a chill, accepting bro, the best kind of bro. (And if Craig ever tells you otherwise, never listen to him. He’s a narcoleptic _liar_.)

 

By sheer association, Clyde’s friendship with Kevin Stoley must’ve struck everyone else as odd. But then, as all things eventually do in South Park, they just settled into the background as one of those small, quiet parts of highschool that’s left to grow into something expected. Like Craig’s chronic ass narcolepsy. (Is Clyde ever going to let that go, you ask? Never. He’s fallen asleep standing on the bus, it’s fucking weird.) Anyway, jump to present day, where Clyde’s getting ready to head to Kevin’s for their ritualistic study day. Kevin roped him into it, and no matter how much Clyde outwardly huffs and puffs at the insinuation that he needs help, he’s glad Kevin insisted.

 

This one time, before finals made a vicious move to drag his GPA from a generous D to an H, Kevin had taken Clyde’s palm in his lithe, precise hands and traced a bunch of pretty Chinese symbols into his wrist whenever he’d get a question right. To this day, it’s the only study method that’s ever dually earned Clyde higher than a seventy and brought a legitimate smile to Kevin’s face. (Everything else involving Chemistry and Clyde in the same context makes his nose scrunch up.)

  
As for what the symbols actually mean, Kevin’s never told him, but Clyde’s convinced they’re ancient hieroglyphics that attract good fortune or something. 

 

你 和 我

 

It takes Clyde a couple of seconds to squeeze into his mom’s old, “We can do it” sweatshirt, and then he’s off. It fits a little snug on him now, it’s gray and worn in parts with faded, glossy lettering, but it’s one of his favorite things to wear besides Kevin’s dorky pullovers. 

 

The last time he wore Kevin’s Ellen Ripley hoodie, he stretched it out a bit, but Kevin didn’t really seem to mind at all. If anything, he wears it more often now than he did before it got stretched to hell by the width of Clyde’s bulky athlete shoulders. 

 

Kevin’s always been shorter than Clyde, definitely not as short as Tweek, but still relatively small in comparison to everybody else. The whole of junior class essentially dwarves his short ass. Kevin may not be petite, but he’s not overly toned either. He’s more lean than anything, with really small lithe hands, lanky arms, and a precise set of features that pull his face into youth. No matter how hard he tries to mature, a delicately upturned nose and a pair of pillowy, plush lips have always kept him from looking directly his age. Sometimes, Clyde thinks he’s befriended porcelain.  He’s got hazel, almond shaped eyes lined with flecks of amber. They brighten into a reflective honey hue in the sunlight, the rims of them darkening to a crisp golden brown when he’s focused. His expressions have the invariable habit of making Clyde stupidly happy and just as ecstatic, even if he has no clue what’s caught Kevin’s eye. He just has a way of making the weirdest things feel special, he makes  _ Clyde _ feel special.

 

Suffice to say, a lot of things about Kevin stick out to him, and it’s really hard for him to list everything in one setting. He’s been trying since he was twelve, ask Craig. 

 

Jump again to the present, where Clyde’s fumbling his way into the Stoley household.

 

He high fives Mrs. Stoley on his way upstairs, then stops dead in his tracks to backup noisily on the narrow staircase to assist her in carrying the load of laundry she’s cradling under her armpit down to the basement floor, but she starts whapping his giant arm away, physically ushering him backwards because she’s definitely got it. 

 

When Clyde makes it upstairs, he noisily dumps himself on Kevin’s plush bed, thoroughly warping Darth Maul’s face in the process, “Hey Kev, are you sure it’s cool for me to be up here again?” 

 

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” Kevin barely spares him a glance from where he’s sat at his desk rearranging a model of the USS Enterprise.

 

“I mean, you got kinda pissy last time we studied here.”

  
“Who wouldn’t be angry? You ate all of my cereal and then dented my lightsaber.” Kevin’s hands continue methodically to fix his model with a deflector disk, and Clyde blanks out for a bit.   


  
He hums in agreement at whatever it is that Kevin just said. He vaguely recalls the word ‘cereal’, and his stomach makes a noisy grievance at the mention of food. It’s pretty hard to ignore, judging by the way Kevin’s hands abruptly stop twisting the tiny screwdriver he's grasping and he does this little nose-twitch thing that says he’s unhappy. It's kind of like when Stan Marsh pinches the bridge of his nose whenever Clyde talks to him on the field, except it’s Kevin so Clyde actually feels kinda bad when he does his thing.

 

“No Clyde, no more captain crunch. It’s gone because of you. You’re terrible.” Kevin says flatly, and Clyde whines pitifully until Kevin scowls and moves to fix him a bowl of whatever else he might have in stock downstairs. Clyde smiles, probably cheerios. Nice.

 

Red can call him annoying all she wants, but the Donovan guilt-trip system is tried and true, it  _ works _ . Red’s just jealous she’s never been able to successfully weasel cereal out of Kevin’s greedy grasp.

 

Clyde relaxes himself as he waits, splaying out on the Star Wars themed blankets with his arms wide open. He takes up space on the bed with ease and triumph. He fiddles with the makeshift basketball hoop over Kevin's half-full trash bin until Kevin comes back and bats at his legs vindictively before Clyde finally relents and curls them up and to the side to make room for him again. 

  
Kevin waps the hoop out of Clyde’s hands in one swift motion and snorts into his own palm when Clyde promptly looks devastated. The Stoley’s need to stop wapping at things, it hurts him on an emotional level.

 

  
  


 

An hour later, Kevin’s trying to get Clyde to cough up one of the miniature Mr.Meeseeks he forgot he had on display. 

“You really shouldn’t have those out in the open like that, they’re choking hazards Kevin.” Clyde sputters breathlessly.

“For kids aged  1-5 , _fuck_ , Clyde!”


	2. 6 Months in Deep Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his cahier, Kevin writes, Je vais voir la Statue de la Liberté avec un tas d'idiots.

The French field trip to the Statue of Liberty is the center of discussion for months. Ms. Candelori’s junior class gets to raffle for the fourteen spots available, and everyone scrambles to secure a position on the all expense paid two-day long field trip to New York City.

 

Out of the forty-three raffle applicants, Kevin stoley is lucky enough to end up in the same chaperone group as Clyde, Craig, Kenny, Tweek, and Butters.

 

In his cahier, Kevin writes,  _ Je vais voir la Statue de la Liberté avec un tas d'idiots. _

 

Kevin likes to think that he balances all of his curriculars at least semi-gracefully, which is pretty decent considering how much of them he has to pursue just to appease his parents. A lot of what he does sort of revolves around them, but he’s diligent and cares enough about it to make everything work out. Even if that means his weekly Chess tournaments get cut into by vigorous, three-hour long after school practice sessions. He also tutors on the side, he teaches Chemistry and physics every Saturday from twelve to six, and volunteer’s to grade Mr. Garrison’s papers for extra credit on Friday’s when he can manage to spare the time.

 

Kevin’s not even sure he’s legally allowed to take as many courses as he does, but then again, he also knows his mom probably pulled more than her fair share of strings to get him into more than half of them.

 

Not to mention that the Park County School district pretty much requires every facility to carry a sweater design for most courses they offer, and because his parents like to show him off, they made Kevin  _ get  _ everything. Now he has to carry the burden of his extracurricular activities on his literal shoulders at all times for the world to see - and no matter what Clyde thinks, flaunting cheesy, mandated hoodies every time his relatives visit is embarrassing and cruel.

 

Student Council?  _ Property of SOUTH PARK High’s Student Council Staff _

 

Horror Film Club?  _ SOUTH PARK High, Horror Film Club, What’s your favorite scary movie? _

 

Chess club?  _ First rule about SOUTH PARK High chess club, you don’t talk about chessclub! _

 

Debate team?  _ SOUTH PARK High debate team, Arguably the best. _

 

Latin Club Roman Alliance?  _ SOUTH PARK High Latin Club, Ecce Romani! Verbum ludere! _

 

Needless to say, he’s learned to overcome the fatigue that he encounters on a daily basis.

 

 

 

Clyde was so motherfucking hyped to take Spanish this year. He kept imagining how dope it would be if he ordered off the Chipotle menu fluently. He’d impress the shit out of  _ all  _ the biddies, and then they’d feed him fiesta nachos and take turns making out with him. 

 

_ No señor Clyde! I want you first! Pick me! Pick me! _

 

He was so ready for his ill ass burrito bowl destiny, but they pulled him from the class last minute because of the overwhelming amount of Freshmen wanting to enroll. And just like that, they slam-dunked his totally plausible greasy sex-pirations and crammed Clyde into a shitty French course instead. 

 

In the end, Clyde reasoned that it was for the best. The biddies can’t handle the Spanish inquisition yet.

 

_ Oh Clyde, who will I feed this hypothetical fajita to now? _

 

His dad keeps calling the switch an opportunity for him to learn about a whole new culture and educate himself on the language of love. Thing is, Ms. Candelori kind of hates him. The only honest reason he’s even passing French is because Bradley Biggles always ends up pairing up with him and Kevin.

 

So much for expanding his horizons.

 

 

Each group gets escorted by school bus to the airport the day of at around five in the morning, and everyone immediately sets out comparing assigned seats and switching with each other. 

 

Once in the sky, Craig and Tweek establish their own corner and mold themselves into it. Tweek takes a couple prescription sleeping pills and Craig lends him his giant bulky headset and an in-flight blanket they were handed before promptly nodding off himself.

 

Kyle spends an entire third of the flight complaining about not being able to recline his seat, and Kevin fills four airsick bags while Stan tries to pat his back.

 

Kenny and Clyde spend all of an hour trying to get the poor stewardess in charge of them to sing  _ Everything is Awesome _ off key with them from five seats away from each other, and when Jason throws a can of coke at them, Kenny screams, “This bitch empty!” and Clyde raps. Wendy stares at them until their excitement dwindles into nothing under her superior glare of contempt.

 

When the plane hits turbulence, Clyde cries a little, and Butters elbows Kevin’s fifth sick bag. The motion ends in a heap of consequences that mostly land on Kenny’s leg.

 

The entire three hour ride from Colorado to New york is pure, unadulterated agony.

 

 

Checking into the hotel is marginally less stressful for all of the adults involved, and Ms. Candelori’s predictably relieved when she’s assured she can secure a separate room all for herself.

 

 

 

Once they clear security, they get in line to board the massive farey that’s docked in the harbor of Battery Park. Kevin’s staring at the massive stern making it’s way around the corner like it’s a lumbering death trap.

 

Kevin spends most of the ride with his head on Clyde’s shoulder and half-heartedly clutching a half eaten granola bar that’s been warming in his bag for twelve hours.

 

“Are you sure you’re gucci?” Clyde asks him in all sincerity.   
  


Kevin pushes away from him, “Please. Never say that to me. Never say those words in that order in my vicinity. Actually, I want you to leave for a few minutes and think about what you just said to me. Go downstairs. I’m going to throw up, just - anywhere, please. Leave. Immediately.”

 

When Clyde comes back, he’s got two giant steaming pretzels in hand that he bought on the bottom cabin of the ferry. They’re roughly the width of his face, and Kevin nearly yaks up half a granola bar at the sight of them, so Clyde decides to eat them in private.

 

By ‘in private’, he means he chews them obnoxiously close to Stan Marsh’s face until he gets shooed away by Wendy. By the time he’s finished, he’s got a greasy bunched up wrapper buried deep in each jacket pocket and a face full of crumbs that keep spilling into the upturned collar of his lettermen (It looks fucking badass, Craig’s just a fussy grandpa that wouldn’t know style if it cock-slapped him. And he’s pretty sure it has.) Kevin quickly busies himself by wiping the crumbs off his neck, and Clyde happily relishes in the careful attention while he placidly sits still for him. As still as he can manage to be while playing Temple Run, anyway.

 

Not a few minutes later Craig and a cute little old lady are sharing their mutual disgust at Clyde from the railing they’re perched on because he’s licking at his own salty palms clean, and when he looks to Kevin eagerly for some kind of defense, it’s pretty obvious that Kevin isn’t exactly mad, just disappointed. Clyde honestly gets it because Kevin’s been trying to pointlessly teach him the ways of etiquette for years now. Probably since the beginning of elementary if Clyde thinks back hard enough.

 

A couple minutes after that, he’s roaming the open deck like a man on a mission, trying to find a good enough spot to throw his wrappers ‘inconspicuously’ into the water. Stan gawks at him and he shrugs.

 

“Gee, I’m starving.” Butters voices next to Kenny, and because Clyde’s ever eager to intrude, he turns to clamor over the back of his bench excitedly like a noisy toddler meeting another toddler at a really quiet event, “Dude, same! I’ve only had like, three meals today!”

 

Unperturbed, Craig says, “Clyde, it’s barely nine, that’s too many meals.”

 

Clyde snorts, “Says you,” but when he looks to Kevin for support, he looks faintly green and like he hasn’t been paying attention, so Clyde sinks back into his bench feeling outnumbered and defeated. He sits sulking for the remainder of the boat trip because Ms. Candelori’s giving him the  _ oeil puant  _ from her cushy window seat.   
  


The second they’re docked, Kevin wastes absolutely no time in hightailing it the fuck off the farey and onto dryland. 

 

When they make it up the several staircases it takes to reach the pedestal of the landmark statue, everyone’s winded and begging for a kind, quick death. Clyde’s breathing heavy and estatically taking hold of Kevin’s wrist to drag him along the stony length of the round balcony. They spend a few good minutes gawking a hundred feet below at where a bunch of people are waiting in line the same place they were standing half an hour ago.

 

The wind is picking up nicely, and Kevin’s enjoying the wide view of the skyline until Craig decides to mess with Clyde by pretending to lift him up and off the pedestal.

 

After around the eighth time he’s been shoved, Clyde cries, “ _ Stop _ , it’s not funny, Craig!”

 

This only prompts Craig to keep following him around the crowded veranda threateningly until Kevin ends up having to apologize to a young mother gently urging her excitable kids away from the giant wailing teenager hiding behind his scrawny nerdy Asian friend.

 

“We should probably get down now.” Kevin decides, and pulls Clyde back from the ledge by his sleeve. Together they make their way back down the strenuous 354 steps from the pedestal to the safety of the grounds again, and after Clyde stops rubbing at his red face, he’s back to being happy again. After that, it’s like hauling a giant puppy around on a leash, he won’t quit pulling Kevin forward, and he keeps trying to stick his nose in just about everything he sees.

 

Clyde runs into Craig again when he’s roaming the gift shop, there’s a bunch of ranger hats and foam crowns that he’s dying to try on. Kevin’s busy browsing the mini puzzles they have on the shelves. He’s holding one of Benjamin Franklin Clyde thinks. There are some overpriced snowglobes of New York City that Clyde’s sure Token would probably like, and a barrel-full of shirts that don’t fit him.

  
Craig ends up buying Tweek a cute little interactive tour book, and when Clyde asks him why he never buys him nice things, Craig tells him to fuck off because nobody loves him. Clyde looks dejected until Kevin promises they’ll get ice cream when they stop near the food stands, but he only really stops pouting when Kevin throws in the promise of a New York-style hotdog.

 

Butters complains about how much his feet hurt, so Kenny carries him all around the garden area on his back until they all stop briefly to have lunch. Mr. Mackey’s their chaperone, so they pretty much get to do anything they want regardless of the itinerary Ms. Candelori mapped out for them in advance.

 

Clyde’s halfway through shoving a giant, gooey chocolate-vanilla swirl spoonful of his sticky-sweet ice cream bowl into his syrup-coated mouth when Craig chimes in like the gorgeous ass messiah he is and abruptly voices the entire table’s disgust, “Clyde, close your mouth, you eat like a fucking pig. The tourists are going to start thinking you’re an attraction and we won’t get to take you back home.”   
  
Clyde opens his mouth for a fussy rebuttal, but vanilla drips off his plump lips and onto the sunbaked stonework of the round tropitone tabletop instead. Kevin does his nose-scrunch thing, Craig gets to punctuate his point, and Clyde drips some more until the art on the table looks soiled and weepy.   
  
In short, nobody really wins, and Kevin throws up on Clyde’s lap during the swervy bus ride back to the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went on a trip to the Statue of Liberty. I had a 'Craig' on the pedestal. It wasn't fun.


End file.
